


The Trial: Remastered

by persistent_pedantry



Series: The Escapades of Minerva and R [15]
Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-01
Updated: 2018-06-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:27:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22989358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/persistent_pedantry/pseuds/persistent_pedantry
Summary: Just a remake of a piece I made in 2017.
Series: The Escapades of Minerva and R [15]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1483421





	The Trial: Remastered

**Author's Note:**

> More a cheap joke at remasters after Dark Souls' remaster kinda crashed, I never really liked this piece. Rereading it though, I'm fairly happy with it.

Kalos’ High Court is exactly how you’d imagine it: strikingly modern with classicism carelessly thrown in, showing off the modernity of Kalos as a whole, let alone just their legal system. Even then, despite the attempt at a less old-fashioned design, the typical wooden podiums continue to stand proud, bearing down on the grimly-dressed Hunter and two other, suitably dressed men: the defending lawyer, and the clerk of court.

“All rise,” a solemn-looking man begins, having stood only a stark few moments ago. All aside from one (and another, until a few seconds of nudging from his lawyer), rose to their feet, the shuffle and rumbling of feet resounding through the courtroom. A jury along with a bailiff, not including the large group of observers behind him; it seems like a lot of people are keen to put René behind bars. “Department One of the Superior Court is now in session. Judge Pierre is presiding. Please be seated.” And like that, everyone sat down again.

Oh, how thrilling.

“Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen,” the judge began, his rather bushy moustache bustling noticeably as he speaks. “Calling the case of the People of the Region of Kalos versus René. Are both sides ready?”

“Ready for the People, Your Honour,” says the vindictive-looking woman on the other side of the podium’s proverbial shadow.

“Ready for the defendant, Your Honour,” René’s lawyer responds, a fairly young man, probably in his mid-twenties. Dirty blond hair, round-faced; doesn’t seem like a lawyer at all, but hey, he was the cheapest one René could find. It’s not like he’s going to win the case, anyway.

“Will the clerk please—“ the judge begins, only to trail off at the aggravation coming from the defendant’s table.

“Oh, _putain de Dieu_ , can we get on with this?” René asks, motioning exasperatedly at the jury. “Do we really need this whole ‘swearing’ business? If I recall, your system means that they already signed a contract. Why bother with this superstition since you’re obviously a ‘new and modern’ law system?” Ignoring his lawyer’s shocked look and fervent hushing, René shrugs. “Let’s just get this over with since I don’t want to be here, you don’t want to see my face, and somebody’s pro—“

“Order in the court!” The judge exclaims, slamming his gavel twice. “Mr. Galliard, the proceedings will continue as normal. You may see yourself as above the law, but you are by no means in control of any aspect of it.”

“Pardon my delusion, then. I thought that after you killed enough officers, you got a little badge that let you do whatever you wanted,” René replies dryly, ignoring the scorning looks from the act of morbid sarcasm. “Carry on.”

The judge didn’t say anything for a few moments, hesitant to comply to the Hunter’s idle allowance. However, after perhaps a minute, the jury had made their vows, and a man in a well-made suit rises, motioning with a folder to the now turned on screen: thievery, breaking and entering, murder, bodily harm, assault; CCTV feed after CCTV feed was shown, each given their own little ‘Fig.’ number for reference.

“Your Honour, and ladies and gentlemen of the jury: the defendant has been charged with multiple crimes which will be addressed over the course of this trial. To begin, we will be addressing the most outstanding of which: the conscious affiliation and activity with organized Pokémon trafficking, including the thievery of, as of our current knowledge, over four-hundred protected Pokémon.” The man begins, facing somewhere between the judge and jury, looking to them both every now and then. “Given the massive amount of individual crimes the defendant has committed to our knowledge, this trial has been mutually agreed by myself, His Honour, and both the defence and persecution to be a generalized trial. If the defendant is found guilty of enough crimes to register for the maximum sentence, then the rest will be deemed guilty by default until found otherwise.”

René raises a brow, leaning to his baby-faced lawyer. “I forget your name, but I have a concern: aren’t they saying that to save time, they’re going to find the easiest cases to put against me, then they’ll just throw me away for those, ignoring the others?” He asks lowly, earning a small nod.

“Gabin, and since even if you’re found not guilty of the others, you’ll still be guilty of enough to be put away in AMS for life,” he replies. AMS, or Alola Maximum Security, is currently the most secure penitentiary in the world. It has a longer name, but AMS is just what most people call it.

“Hm. That seems rather unfair.”

“It’s a very old practice. It’s very, very rarely used. I believe you’re the first person to have it used on since 1994.”

“Was the last time for that guy who tried to make Pokémon-human hybrids?”

“He didn’t just try, but yes.”

René scrunches up his nose in disgust, shifting in his seat. “ _Dégueulasse_.” Focusing back on the task at hand, René frowns. It seems as if he had left them waiting.

Gabin rises a little too quickly to not be awkward, taking his folder and walking from the table towards the jury. “Apologies. I was just speaking to my client,” he says, the judge nodding in understanding. “Your Honour, and ladies and gentlemen of the jury: by our region’s law, my client is innocent until proven guilty. While there are a number of claims against my client, the Pokémon trafficking business is one of the largest illicit underworlds we know of, and it’s entirely possible that my client is not, in fact, the Hunter in the shown evidence.”

Despite the palpable professionalism, nearly every look in the room was sceptical — and towards Gabin. “It is possible, but the odds are absolutely tiny.” René comments.

The woman rises quickly to her feet, looking towards René. “Mr. Galliard, could you please repeat that? It strongly suggested, from what I heard, that you’re implying that you could be—“

“R?” René finishes, laughing modestly. “Oh, of course, of course. I, the great and enigmatic R, was captured by the police force that I have repeatedly ridiculed for their incompetence. The only reason R would ever allow himself to be captured would be to escape to ridicule Kalos’ legal system even further, no?”

“You seem like a very fervent admirer of the alleged defendant, then,” the judge comments, with Gabin looking at René with complete hopelessness.

“Well, I should be an admirer. I am he,” René replies, standing with a slight grunt, then on... to the table? Alright. The six guards surrounding the room don’t seem too settled by that.

“So you do admit that you are Hunter R?” The woman says, the judge nodding in shared eagerness to cut through the vagueness. “You admit that you are indeed the defendant, and that you are planning to escape to, as you say, ‘further ridicule Kalos’ legal system?’.

“More your security measures, yes,” he says with a shrug, a curious sound, much like a snap occurring as a lithe figure appears beside him on the table, leaning against him with a small wave. “Either that, or your complete underestimation of just how hard you can be fucked over.” He looks to his partner, glancing briefly at the quickly approaching guards. “Shall we?”

“Yeah, probably,” Minerva says, idly snapping her fingers as they disappear into nothing.

Silence, and pure, palpable confusion rests in the courtroom, as if the room itself is stammering for something to say.

“If the folder on his desk says ‘ _Attrape-moi si tu peux_ ’, I am going to break something,” someone mutters.

“Quiet, Mr. Chopin.”

“ _Two_ fucking _times_ , Your Honour.”


End file.
